Skull and Crossbones
by TsukiHoshiAsa
Summary: America accidentally sends himself back in time. Faced with a non-modern world he's not used to, he feels relief when he finds a familiar face in the Britain of that time. But this isn't the Iggy he knows and loves... Pirate!Iggy, rating may go up later.
1. Prologue

"Iggy! Hey Iggy! Where are ya man? Come on! Hellooo?" A very impatient Alfred F. Jones whined from the front door of the Briton's house as he repeatedly rang the doorbell and pounded on the door simultaneously. "Arthuur! Come on! You said you'd be here right now! Let me iiin! It's cold and it's wet and all icky and stuff!" True to his complaints, it was currently pouring down an uncomfortable mix of rain, sleet, and hail, and a cold wind cut through even the thick leather of the personification of America's bomber jacket, freezing him to the bone.

Pouting, eager to get in out of the awful weather- seriously, he didn't know how the Brit could stand weather like this _all the time_- he tried the doorknob and found it pleasantly open.

"I'm coming in!" he announced loudly to the seemingly empty house. Quickly shutting the door behind him and deciding to shuck his sodden coat- right onto the floor of the foyer. He was dripping all over and shivering profusely, and made his way to where he knew Arthur's living room was, using one hand to swipe sodden bangs from his face. America was pleasantly surprised to find a warm fire crackling in the hearth and he promptly approached it to warm himself.

He rubbed his hands and held them up to the fire, periodically scooting a little bit closer or turning this way or that to warm and dry each and every part of him. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty, with no sign of Arthur anywhere, and nothing to entertain Alfred but the crackling of the fire. With a pout that didn't befit a nation of his size and age, he stood, hands crossed over his chest, glancing around the room. "Artiiie, come on," he whined, though it was obvious the said nation wasn't around to hear him complain.

Alfred's eyes fell on a bookshelf hiding against one side of the room. That would do, he decided. He'd read a book while he waited. Walking up to the bookshelf, his feet squishing wetly in the carpet, he pulled an interesting looking book from the shelf. A quick leaf through it showed him that there were no pictures and, bored already, he shoved the book haphazardly back onto the shelf. He looked through another, then another, then another and none piqued his interest.

Finally he came to one on the top shelf, way on one edge. It was a dusty old tome of a book bound with ancient-looking leather and weird symbols on the front. He grinned as he flipped it open. It looked promising.

However, a glance inside showed pages full of diagrams and symbols, pentagrams and odd rune-things that he couldn't read at all. "Come on Artie, what kinda stuff is this? Don't you have any good books?" A page slipped, and he found himself looking at a page with a clock-looking diagram, and words with letters that he actually recognized.

Squinting his eyes to read the fancy, faded script on the time-yellowed pages, he spoke them out loud to himself. The words sounded odd to him, and hard to pronounce, nothing like any language he'd ever encountered before. As he finished reading, he suddenly felt something flowing through him, like a wave, pulling out his energy and leaving nothing but exhaustion behind, which was quickly drowned by this strange, exhilarating, startling, yet refreshing feeling, like being drenched in ice-cold water. Black washed over his vision, but he still felt fully conscious, like his eyes were open. He reached out into it, and found that the air resisted his movement, as if he were standing in Jell-o.

He frowned. What was going on? Then the air seemed to thicken further, until it wasn't Jell-o he was standing in, but pure, rock-hard concrete. And he couldn't breathe. He couldn't move, frozen in space- no, it wasn't like concrete, it was like ice, freezing him to the core, so cold it was burning. He wanted to scream it was too cold, it hurt so bad, but his voice was as frozen as his body.

It felt like an eternity had passed, like he had gone through centuries of the awful freeze, when the whole world shattered, and he fell away from awareness.

**A/N: YO! Yeah, this suddenly came to mind when I found this epic video on Youtube… 'Don't mess with the British Empire.'. You should totally look it up. It's awesome. Anyhows… **

**Yeah, this is just a prologue, not terribly happy with it but meh… **

**Reviews make me happy and inspire me to write more! **

**So REVIEW DANGIT! **


	2. Chapter 1

When Alfred waded his way back to consciousness- and it was a slow process, coming back to one sense at a time- the first thing he was aware of was a feeling of discomfort. Knotted muscles twisting his back, a harsh pounding in his head, and an overall exhaustion that suffused his entire body, right to the ends of his fingertips and toes. And it was cold, and wet. He was laying on something rigid and uncomfortable, with dampness soaking into his pants at the knees where they touched the ground. There was a bad, coppery taste in his mouth, like he'd bit his tongue. With the soreness in his mouth, he probably had.

Then came sound. A busy hustle-bustle type of noise like the crowds that filled the streets in his big cities. So was he back at his own house somehow? Somewhere far off a loud clanking noise sounded at regular intervals. About eight seconds apart, he counted. And there was this soft, rustling whooshing sort of sound, one he knew he recognized from somewhere, but couldn't remember exactly what it was.

Finally, sight came to him when he managed to pry his fatigued eyes open, and he looked around, brow furrowed in confusion. He wasn't in Kansas any more. Or anywhere in the U.S. for that matter. He was kneeling in a puddle in a cobblestone walkway, half slumped over a wooden crate, his glasses all askew and fogged up. Two buildings, tall, wooden, and rickety-looking, loomed up on either side of him, forming a dark, narrow alley as it blocked out what little sunlight managed to get through the endless tumble of grey clouds above. Through the mouth of the alley, he could see people in what looked like costume clothing trudging up and down the streets. All the women wore old style dresses that went past their ankles, and the men wore old clothing as well- tunics, some with belts around their waists, soft leather boots, and a couple even carried swords or daggers, or long-unused farm tools like pitchforks and hoes.

Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled toward the alley's mouth, legs limp with exhaustion. Alfred gripped the wall as he peered around the corner. His brows arched up in surprise. It was like he'd walked right into one of those renaissance festival things. Guards in armor that gleamed, it was so well kept, farmers and travelers busying themselves with their own business, walking up and down the street with a sense of duty. Merchants hawked their wares to the passers-by. Up the street, a blacksmith's forge, open to the air, spat out smoke and seemed to radiate warmth- Alfred could see it in the air around it.

Warmth...

With a single-minded determination to eliminate the shivering that gripped his body just then, when he realized how truly cold he was, he worked his way up the street, trying to ignore the odd looks he got from the people he passed. He approached the forge, and when he arrived beneath the roof, it was like walking into a heated home. A wall of warmth hit him, and he felt a smile tug at his lips. Sure, he was in a weird place with no idea how he got there and no idea how to get home, but he would be alright. He WAS a hero after all, and heroes were always fine, no matter the situation. That's just how heroes were.

"Oi, you want something kid?" a gruff voice asked, and he turned to see a bald, broad-shouldered, well muscled man with red cheeks and a big mustache, stubble dusting his chin. He was pulling a pair of thick gloves off his hands. A piece of metal that looked like the beginnings of some sort of blade stuck partway out of the fire in the forge behind him.

"Hey, I'm no kid, I'm older than you are!" Alfred pouted, seeming to forget the actual question asked altogether.

The smith quirked a skeptical brow. "Right. And I'm yer grandmama," he said flatly. "Ye damn well don't look a day over twenty."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "That's because I'm a COUNTRY. The great United States of America. You might have heard of me," he said with humility that was, to be completely honest, was meant somewhat sarcastically. Hey, he was AMERICA for Pete's sake, he had no need for humility!

The smith's eyes narrowed, and he glanced around as if he were afraid he was being watched. "Well I ain't never heard of ye, but if'n ye're tellin the truth, ye'd best get out of 'ere quick like. King doesn' like other countries in 'is territory unless they're his followers, and I sure know you ain't. And if'n you were, you wouldn't find friends in my shop." The smith glanced over Alfred's shoulder and grimaced. "'ere 'e comes. Ye'd best get outta here afore it's too late."

Alfred frowned, his brows furrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked, turning around. Then he saw it. Down a little ways from the forge, past a few houses, the tall mast of a huge ship approached. So that was the sound he'd heard earlier. They were near an ocean.

Alfred, according to the kind of man he was, did exactly the opposite of what the smith had suggested in order to sate his curiosity. He went right down the street toward where he saw the mast of the ship towering over the buildings. He ignored the quiet tutting of the smith behind him as he left.

Back out into the cold and damp, he walked quickly, his tired legs waking up somewhat. It was downhill toward where he knew the docks must be, and that helped him pick up his pace somewhat. Oddly enough, the streets seemed to be clearer than before. The people on the streets appeared to have something incredibly important to do that was nowhere near the direction Alfred was heading. They all hurried away from the direction of the sea, though none dared to openly run. Once again, he was faced with confused, curious, but wary stares. Once again, he put these to the back of his mind. They were just in awe of how heroic he was.

When he was near enough to the ocean that he could hear very little wave, and could feel the spray on the air, making it almost stiflingly damp, the ground leveled out and he could clearly see the docks.

Foremost was the huge vessel which he'd seen from afar, already docked, with a wood ramp midway from being set out so that those on the ship could disembark. It's masts and sails seemed impossibly high, reminding Alfred of the skyscrapers in his cities. It was painted vibrant scarlet with gold trimming and one of those fancy carved wood figures on the bow- this one of some odd creature like a. Mix between a unicorn and a dolphin, with a back fin like the sea-bound mammal and the front half of a unicorn. It appeared to be charging out of a mound of frothing, golden waves, and the carving was so lifelike that Alfred would not have been surprised had it leapt off the front right then and there and swam away.

In the shadow of this, every other ship seemed minuscule, and the humble fishing vessels seemed as ants. Looking around himself, he realized that there were now very few people left around, and the ones that remained milled around looking as though they'd rather be anywhere else but here. For the first time, Alfred wondered what kind of person this king was, that people would do so much to avoid him.

With a clatter, the wood plank bridge settled into place, and those citizens who remained quickly kneeled, eyes downcast, heads bowed. Alfred frowned. Whoever this king was, no matter who he was, he would NOT bow to him. Bowing to some guy, king or otherwise, was incredibly unheroic.

Then, onto the plank stepped a person that seemed quite a sight to see. Most prominent was his scarlet coat reminiscent of a pirate's, gold tassels on the shoulders, trimmed with more gold and with gold buttons that shimmered as though they were polished every other hour. This fabulous coat hung off his shoulders nonchalantly, giving him an air of easy authority and importance. A tri-cornered hat sat atop his head, as deep red as his coat, and several large, plumed feathers cascaded off one side making him look like some sort of grandiose bird of paradise. Under this hat, his face was shadowed, but as he neared, Alfred slowly recognized a familiar face.

Short, messy blonde hair, emerald eyes, and unmistakeable big, bushy eyebrows. It was Arthur-it was England, just who he'd been looking for before this whole mess began. It had to be some sort of prank for having gone into his house without permission, or for touching his books without his knowledge. Ignoring the kneeling crowd, he raced up to the end of the plank-bridge as Arthur stepped down off of it.

"Artie! Hey, man, I've been looking all over for you! Dude, what's been going on here? It's like one of your book movie things, that lord of the rings thing, but with just normal humans! What did you do? I mean-" he stopped himself, realizing there was something different about Arthur. Several somethings actually.

Normally, the Brit was shorter than he, but standing here, they stood eye to eye. And the eyes were another thing. Whereas the Iggy he knew had warm, comfortable green eyes, like a Christmas tree all done up with lights or the leaves of a palm tree on a tropical island, this Iggy's were like shards of green ice, cold and unforgiving as the Alaskan winter. The frown in his face was like the one a person wore when they'd just stumbled across something nasty, a pile of dog droppings, perhaps. All about him was an air of haughty unconcern. In short, it was like someone had taken the Iggy he knew, made him look more imposing, and put his personality in a deep freeze.

Those tundra eyes seemed to look him up and down for a few moments. Then, casually as one might brush a bit of dust from their shirt, he harshly backhanded Alfred across his left cheek, enough force behind his blow to knock even him over. His expression didn't change once, and he said not a word as he stepped around a stunned-silent America, walking on past the kneeling citizens like they didn't exist. He disappeared up the hill, broad red back glaring at Alfred among the dull greys and browns of the town.

Alfred's mind was blank, and he got only the occasional sympathetic glance from the people as they gradually returned to their normal routines.


End file.
